Begin Again
by gameloverx
Summary: What happened after everyone got out? Did they go back to their ordinary lives? Where is Maxwell? And is the end really the end? A series of modern-time stories. After cannon. Kind of has a plot. Current story: " There was an impulse that wouldn't let him leave Maxwell's note well alone. There was also a dead woman on the stairs."
1. An Unexpected Reunion

Willow groaned, looking at the alarm clock on her night stand. 5.00AM. Preferably _not_ the time she would want to wake up, but hey, beggars weren't choosers. At least she'd gotten a bit of sleep tonight. Sometimes her insomnia lasted for days, the nightmares not letting her get even a wink. This was a pretty peaceful night, all things considered.

The young woman looked out the window. The night sky was still pitch black, with only a few stars visible. She still had to get used to that. Having a roof over her head, that is. Not that she was complaining.

The firestarter got out of bed to start her day, knowing that sleep was impossible now. Turning on the lights, Willow headed for the bathroom. After a nice hot shower, some breakfast, and an eternity it took to get her unruly hair into her signature pigtails, the woman had completed her morning ritual. Looking at the clock, she saw that only an hour had passed. She still had another one before she had to leave for work. Her job was small and practical, which was basically sorting papers all day. She had a decent wage, and the small company was pretty old school, so she wasn't forced to learn how to use those "computers".

Willow hated her job. It was extremely dull, and every second she spent sitting at that desk, sorting through all those dry, boring documents, she couldn't help imagining what a nice, big fire they could make. Unfortunately, burning down the place would probably not only get her fired, but also arrested for arson. But again, Willow couldn't afford complaining. Money was money after all, and she needed it to live. Another thing she wasn't used to.

Turning on her TV (a piece of technology that Willow spent two whole days figuring out), the young woman let the buzz of morning news distract her for a while. Wilson would probably be gushing all over this stuff, giving her an hour long rant about how it works and how "sciency!" and "amazing development of the human kind!" it was. Willow quickly tried to block out that thought. After all, she didn't know where Wilson was. She didn't know where anyone was. For all she knew, they could still be stuck on that cursed island, and only she had made it out.

No. Willow refused to believe that. Whatever Wilson did worked, and she was free. Meaning that the others were probably free to. They all were out there somewhere. Who knew, maybe she'd even see them again someday.

Still, it hurt not knowing. They where the only friends she had ever had.

The woman scowled. Oh no. She was not going to get all depressed and mopey. She was gonna live her life, and better life, with less illegal fires this time, and the past was not going to drag her into a dark hole of misery. She was gonna move forward.

Speaking of moving, she should probably hurry before she's late for her (incredibly boring) job. Willow quickly got her stuff in her backpack (having a purse was just stupid. How do you even keep it from falling off your arm?), including her packed lunch for the day, and left her tiny apartment, hoping to catch a bus.

* * *

Looking at the giant stack of paper her boss had brought her, the only thing that went though Willow's mind was _Kill me now, this is going to take forever!_ And maybe even _This would look so much prettier if it was on fire._

As Willow started to sort through the files, she looked out the window next to her desk. Storm clouds were gathering above the city, blocking out the sun and making the girl shiver with dread. Rain was terrible. Not only did it make everything cold and wet, it also made everything _stay_ that way for quite a while. The firestarter sighed audibly through her nose, turning away from the revolting sight.

"Gonna be a pretty long day, huh?"

Willow turned towards the voice. A young woman, maybe a few years older than her, stood at the doorway. Her curly blonde hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and a stack of folders was tucked tightly under her arm. The woman smiled, her gray eyes strangely understanding and calculating, which reminded her of a certain librarian.

The pyro knew this woman, or at least knew why she was here. This was an architect that her boss hired part time. This was a real estate company after all, and somebody had to know how to build something without it crashing down a few days later. What was her name? Annabelle?

Annabelle (no, that was definitely not it) smiled, gesturing at the weather outside. "Not a big fan of rain myself. Though its better than dying of thirst, don't you think?"

Willow shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. I guess you're right."

* * *

 _Willow breathed heavily, the spear she held dripping blood and matted with hound fur. The hound itself was not able to escape the firestarter's wrath, and was now laying a few feet away from the girl, dead._

 _Clutching the four inch long gash on her arm, Willow wanted to call for help, yet she knew that no one was around for miles. Everyone was back at camp, and probably thought she was safely scavenging for food. No, there was no one to help her now. Besides, there was nothing to help with anymore._

 _And there she was, lying a few feet away on the damp, dark grass. A crumpled body of a little girl, her lifeless eyes staring into Willow's dark ones, a pool of blood slowly spreading underneath._

 _Willow screamed._

Jerking up from the covers, the young woman tried to get her breathing and heart beat back to normal. It was just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about.

Of course, Wendy wasn't dead in the end. The girl had activated a touchstone somewhere, and had come back to camp a few days later, her dress torn up and her body covered in dirt, but otherwise unharmed. Willow had hugged the girl tightly, telling her how glad she was to have her back. Wendy looked a bit surprised at that, but otherwise her face was devoid of any emotion.

Of course, that was back _there._ Here there were no hounds, or touchstones, or dead little girls. Willow had absolutely nothing to worry about.

If only her subconscious knew that.

* * *

Another painfully boring day at work. Willow was just about sick of all these flammable papers. Her boss came in earlier today, telling her off for "not being committed enough to her job". Willow was just about to give a scathing retort about how no one would be committed to something as boring as this. She kept her mouth shut though, not wanting to loose her only source of income. The man then gave her an Empire State Building of papers to alphabetize, something that ruined Willow's already terrible mood.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or plain disinterest, but Willow couldn't help zoning out more than usual. She looked out the window. The sidewalk was still damp from yesterday's rain, and it looked like it was going to pour again soon. The street Willow worked on was part of a business district, so she could see the people in the offices across the street busy themselves with something or other. The generous amount of people and cars stated that this was a pretty popular place.

Suddenly, one of the doors of those offices opened, and a figure stepped out on the sidewalk. The man looked up at the sky, as if sharing Willow's sentiment about the rain, and left, walking down the street. Not an unusual account, but Willow knew this man. She could recognize that huge pointy head of hair anywhere.

The simple recognition locked Willow in a trance. This was impossible. The firestarter had been free for almost a year, and she never even got a hint on where the others might be. This was ridiculous. This simply couldn't be happening, not now, not when-.

The figure was walking away.

Willow tore from her seat and jumped over her desk, knocking down the stack of papers. Ignoring the surprised looks she got from her coworkers, the young woman dashed toward the front door, opening it and tearing out onto the street. She could get fired for this, but frankly, Willow didn't care.

Spotting the man she hadn't even hoped she'd meet again, the girl ran after him as fast as she could, which was pretty fast. He was a couple of blocks away though, and the traffic was not letting her keep up with him. Pushing through the crowd, Willow spotted her target getting farther and farther away.

Then she came to an intersection, and the light for pedestrians was red. Knowing that by the time it turned green it would be too late, and that jumping out into such fast moving traffic would be suicide, Willow knew she only had once chance. The firestarter cried out loudly, trying to reach the figure, using a name that she hadn't used since she was back _there:_ " _Wilson!"_

And she saw, that just for a split second, the figure hesitated, stopping and turning his head, trying to find the source of the voice. Then Willow's vision was blocked by a large truck, and when it passed, the figure was gone.

* * *

That night Willow couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned, making her rickety old bed squeak loudly. The noise of the city did nothing to distract her thoughts from today's encounter. Was it Wilson that she saw? Or was it just a byproduct of her slightly unstable psyche? After all, _that place_ was not merciful enough to leave a mind unscathed.

Yet the stranger reacted to that name. Perhaps she was just seeing it. That was the most likely scenario. Yet the firestarter couldn't get it out of her head that maybe, just maybe, she actually found one of her long lost friends. Well, more like spotted rather than found. She had no idea where he was now, or if she'll find him again. He was probably still in the city, but this was New York! It was impressive back in her time, but now, it was just plain massive!

Did this mean that the others made it out to? This was another question Willow wanted answered. Did this mean that everyone was safe, just scattered around the globe? One of them could end up in Africa for all she knew!

But no. Willow was from New York after all, and she was dropped not to far from it. So the others must be back where they came from. Wait, then what was he doing here? He said he was from Boston, and to be fair, that wasn't that far, but still. Willow felt a pang in her head from all this thinking. The girl was not known for her logical reasoning, that was _his_ job. Then again, he was not that good at it either, for a scientist. Don't get her wrong, Willow _knew_ he was smart. The simple fact that she was back in this world proved it. But he seemed a bit...reckless? No, that wasn't it. He just made very stupid decisions sometimes, regardless of his intelligence. Either he didn't think it through, or just didn't care about the outcome. Yet Willow couldn't help but find his "poke-it-with-a-stick" attitude amusing.

Willow felt another pang, this time in her chest. Oh God...she missed him. She missed all of them, and why shouldn't she? They were the only friends she had ever known, and the closest people she had.

She missed Wendy and her big words, too big for a twelve year old girl. She missed the way she could romanticize death, and the way every other line that she uttered could be poetry. She missed her passive yet analyzing stare.

She missed Wickerbottom. She missed having her explain practically anything like she was some kind of universal encyclopedia. She missed her grandmotherly voice and her numerous books. Where did she even keep them?

She missed Woodie, and his prized ax. She had once caught him talking to it, which was...weird, to say the least, but not as weird as everything else she'd seen.

She missed Webber, and his child-like innocence, and Wigfrid with her over-the-top acting. She missed Wes and his silence and Wolfgang and his cowardly acts and-

And above all, she missed hi- _Wilson._ She missed _Wilson._ She never believed friendships could last forever. After all, she could never see them again. But she knew that if that were the case, she would not miss Wilson any less in thirty years as she did now. He was...the closest person she could have. That wasn't so say that she knew him better than anybody else, oh no. She knew practically nothing about his past. All she knew was that he was a scientist, and that he built that door thing. That was it. And in turn, she never really told him about herself. It was a way to let go of the past, because no matter what, they were not coming back to it.

Yet there was a time when she could tell what he was thinking just by looking at him. It was like mind reading, except more natural. She didn't have to pretend to be normal after he found out of her pyromania, and he didn't have to pretend to be more formal and uptight around her. Soon, she found out that underneath that facade was someone ridiculous, sarcastic, witty. He could crack jokes and puns at skeletons and treated flesh-eating monsters like it was an ordinary thing you see in your back yard. He was immature, rude, and could care less about someone else's opinions.

And she missed him.

* * *

The next day wasn't any better. The sky still looked like it was about to dumb water on Willow, and work was just as boring as it has always been. The firestarter looked at her messy old desk, and wondered if things would be like this all the time. Sleep (not), work, come home, ear, watch TV, sleep, and the cycle repeats. It was just...so normal, that Willow couldn't take any more of this. As the girl sorted through the papers her boss had given her in the morning, she started to wonder if there was something wrong with her.

Wait, of course there was something wrong with her! She was a pyromaniac, for gods' sake!

But still, Willow felt that it wasn't the lack of fire that contributed to her restlessness. Willow just didn't understand what. Granted, she was better off right now than where she was before she met Maxwell. It just didn't sit easy with her. Before, every day was just survival, figuring out how not to die a thousand violent deaths. The island itself was a death trap, and the firestarter was glad that she was safe now. Yet compared to those days, regular life was too easy. And she missed her friends.

"'Ello? This place open or-?"

Startled, Willow glanced up from her desk. At the door stood a young blonde woman, her highlighted hair sticking out every which way. The girl was about Willow's age, with sharp, bright blue eyes that reminded her of Wendy, and tan skin. The girl stomped her combat boots on the door mat, and grinned at Willow. "Hi. Is Annabeth here?"

Willow noticed two things. First, was that she liked the girl's style. It was cool but unusual, something the firestarer appreciated a lot in her boring sad life. Second, was the woman's accent. It was British, but a bit faded, like she had spent a long time in the U.S. Willow had heard the same accent come from Wilson.

"And you are?" Willow asked.

"Oh, right. Sorry." The woman with highlights extended her hand in a handshake. "Sadie Kane. And you-"

"Willow." Willow shook her hand.

"Just Willow?"

"Yep."

"Fair enough."

There was an awkward silence. "You had a question?" Willow piped up.

"Oh, right." Sadie shook her head in embarrassment. "Is Annabeth here? I remember she told me someone hired her to do...something. I honestly couldn't care less about architecture." She added. "Anyway, if you could tell me where she went, that'd be lovely. It's urgent."

Annabeth...right, the architect. Except Willow had no clue where she was. "Sorry, I have no idea. Is she your friend?"

"That's a bummer. And yeah, she is."

The firestarter heard a crack of thunder outside, and a drizzle that followed soon after. Startled, the dark-haired girl jumped up from her desk. Peering out the glass, she noted that it was indeed raining, and groaned.

Sadie smiled sympathetically. "Don't really like rain?"

Willow shuddered. "Oh, don't even say it. It's cold and slimy and wet and things can't _burn_ properly when it-" She shut her mouth abruptly, knowing she had said too much.

Sadie, however, ignored her comment completely. "Yeah, I get you. Sort of."

"Anyway, sorry about not finding your friend." Willow quickly changed the subject.

"Don't worry about." the other waved her off. "Though it is a bit disappointing. I haven't seen her in a while."

Willow nodded. "You know, I'm looking for someone I haven't seen in a while, too. I thought I saw him yesterday, but.."

"Well, good luck with finding him, then." Sadie winked at her. Willow wondered what _that_ meant.

Walking home was awful. Willow pulled her sweater over her head, hoping to block out the rain. Yet the cold liquid still managed to seep through her clothes, making the girl shiver all over. Coming to an intersection with a red light, the firestarter stopped on the sidewalk, wondering how this day could get any worse.

Then another crack of thunder was heard, making the young woman jump in fight and bump into someone behind her. "Gah!" A voice cried out.

Willow whirled around, ready to apologize to the poor fellow who she almost knocked over into upcoming traffic. And froze.

"Sorry, are you okay? Also, you should probably avoid jumping on people-"

He blinked, finally registering who he was looking at. Willow recognized him immediately. His hair was a soaking wet mess, yet it never lost its spiky shape. His dark blue eyes locked onto hers, and he didn't seem to be able to do anything except stare at her with his mouth open. Willow had the sudden urge to close it for him. "W-willow? What are you...I...how..."

Willow didn't let him finish, pulling him into a tight hug. That, Willow realized after a while, was the happiest she's felt ever since leaving that place. The firestarter felt Wilson stiffen in her arms. His heartbeat felt faster than normal, and his breathing was far from relaxed. Whether he was in shock about her abrupt appearance or just happy to see her, Willow couldn't tell, but a few heartbeats later he awkwardly returned her embrace. In short, she was happy to see her best friend again.

* * *

The next few hours were a blur. Willow vaguely remembered entering a nearby cafe to get away from the rain, and after the initial shock worn out, the two soon began joking and filling each other in.

"Wait, so you actually said that? To his face?" Willow knew Wilson wasn't bold type, but apparently she wasn't the only one who changed.

"Yeah, so what?" Wilson pouted at her. "He was being illogical and didn't want to listen to reason."

"So you thought that telling that to his face was a good idea?"

"Well, I was mad," Wilson looked away, blushing, "and that day was not the greatest, to say the least."

Willow snorted, almost spilling her tea on herself. "So you left. Explains why you were going so fast at least, to put a greater distance between you and those idiots. And you didn't even hear me call you."

The young man blinked. "That was you?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "How many Wilsons do you think were on that street, genius?"

He shrugged. "I thought I was hearing things."

While not the logical answer, Willow understood. After all, she thought half the time that she was seeing things. "Well, I'm just glad I found you, at least. Who knows where the others are right now."

The scientist frowned. "Do you think they made it out?"

"Oh, please, why wouldn't they? _We're_ here, after all."

"But what if I-"

"What I you what? Killed them all?" the girl snorted. "Then they're probably gonna haunt you. For the rest of eternity."

Wilson snapped, a little more forcefully than necessary: "It's not funny, Willow!" Well that was new, coming from him.

"What? There's no use _worrying about it._ That'll eventually drive you nuts."

Still, the scientist looked much more sober than he had a few minutes ago. All trace of laughter was gone, and all that was left was a serious boring old Wilson.

"Listen," he said after a while, "There's something I...kinda need your help with."

Willow frowned at him.

The man took a deep breath. "There's some unfinished business back in Boston."

* * *

 **Hello, and welcome to something I like to call "project how-much-can-I-confuse-my-readers-before-they-come-at-me-with-pitchforks-and-torches".**

 **So this is basically a modern-time AU. I'll try to keep as close to cannon as possibles despite the fact that the two main characters had little to no cannon interaction. NONE. AND YES, I SHIP IT.** **So basically this is my take on what would happen if everyone manages to escape the island. Flashbacks will be provided in angsty memories and terrifying nightmares. This chapter is just me being shipping trash. The next one will be much more firendship and less...well, you know.**

 **Note: The story is actually closely tied with HideousBlob's _The Infinite Obituary of Wilson P Higgsbury._ The characterization will be different, but the plot elements will be tied to what happened in that little series. Go read it! It's good!**

 **The POVs will be alternating with Willow and Wilson, and maybe an occasional character that will show up later on. Oh, and watch out for the LITERALLY MILLION REFERENCES I AM GOING TO PUT IN THIS THING.**

 **That's pretty much all I have to say for now, so tune in next time! Read, favorite, and review, and remember: REALITY IS AN ILLUSION, THE UNIVERSE IS A HOLOGRAM, BUY GOLD BYE!**


	2. Now Throw the Switch

"We're here."

Willow slowly pealed her eyes open, blinking away the hazy dream she was having. She sat up, noting two things: their surroundings had changed from an interstate highway to a lonely road somewhere in the middle of the woods, and the car had stopped. Outside, Willow could see a wavy outline of a house in the distance. So, they were here.

The firestarter glanced at her companion. Wilson was quiet, staring off into the distance with a faraway look, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Huh?" Wilson blinked at her, as if just noticing she was there.

"You sure you want to do this? You look a bit-"

"Yes." He cut her off, "I'm sure. Besides, we can't leave it lying around for some innocent kids to find, and besides, I'll probably sleep a lot better when this is all over."

Willow nodded. After all, this was the only thing left of that place other than...themselves.

Willow got out of the car, Wilson soon following. The firestarter knew nothing about cars but she could tell that the ride was nothing impressive. Honestly, Willow was impressed with just the fact that he managed to get one. Or, you know, the fact that he knew how to _drive._ Cars were a relatively new thing back then. Willow didn't even know how to put a seat belt on, never mind getting behind the wheel.

"Alright," said Wilson, "Let's get this over with."

* * *

There was a strange feeling in the back of Wilson's head. It appeared right when he saw the house, and only grew in intensity as they approached it. The scientist knew what it was. He had experienced it pretty often back _there._ It was the same feeling he got every time he saw those strange flowers, or used any of those gems. It was there when he first realized the supernatural existed, and that it wasn't just in his head. It was there when darkness approached, when he knew, without any explanation or experience, that the darkness would kill him. He knew what it was.

And he hated it.

Willow, on the other hand, looked just fine. He was partly glad for that, and partly annoyed, though he didn't want to admit it. She was studying the structure intently, whistling loudly when she finally saw it in full detail. "Man, this place is a mess. Not surprised though. It'd been what? Ninety years? That's almost a century! It's a wonder that it's still standing."

"Yeah, well, lets just hope it won't fall on top of our heads."

The two looked through the boarded up entrance, into the dark space beyond. Wilson noticed a _Magnus was here_ on one of the boards.

"Well, after you, science man." Willow gestured at the door, or at least where it was supposed to be. Honestly, this place was a mess, even by Wilson's generous standards. It was dark, dusty, covered in filth, and broken down from age. The windows were all either shattered or had large cracks in the glass. The wood was rotted and covered with moss. All in all, it was pretty sorry-looking.

"You know," he said after a while, "this place hadn't really changed."

Willow made a choking sound " _W-what?_ " she whispered.

"Well, compared to how it was before, I'd say-"

"Never mind! I don't want to know if your financial status was actually _worse_ than mine, thank you very much!"

Wilson felt a bit offended, but decided that now was probably a good time to shut up. Carefully, he took one of the boards in his hands, tugging on it to try to peel it off the entrance. "Uh, a little help?"

Willow rolled her eyes, picking up a nearby rock and flinging it at a partially destroyed first-story window. The glass shattered, making an opening big enough to squeeze through without cutting themselves. If they were careful.

The young man glared at his friend. "You're wreaking my house."

Willow looked amused. "Honestly? I think I improved it."

The two climbed through the window, and into the shadowy room.

Inside it was dark, dirty, and smelled like dead rats. And that was what Willow didn't hesitate to inform him of. Wilson wasn't offended. At all. Why should he be? He never even cared about the state of the house, too preoccupied of other things. Then again, maybe he should have. Mushroom trees growing in the bathroom was probably a sure sign of that.

Oh well. He was about ninety years too late, anyway.

Wilson reached for his torch (flashlight), and Willow took out her lighter. The flickering flame barely penetrated the darkness. "Creepy." the young woman put in, looking around the rotten furniture and dirty floors. She pointed her light at a nearby wall. Spray painted on the moldy surface was a cartoon ghost. Willow snorted. "Looks like somebody's been using your house as an attraction. Not surprising, really."

"Well, not for long." Wilson remarked, walking a few feet ahead of his companion. The young man came to the bottom of a stairway, gesturing Willow to follow. The firestarter eyed the stairs warily. "They look like they're about to cave in."

"Yep."

She groaned. "There's no way out of this, is there?"

"Nope."

She made a face. "Fine. You first though."

Fair enough. Wilson carefully ascended the staircase, the firestarter close behind. Wilson's torch barely reached the top, but he mostly kept it trained on the ground, in case there was a loose stair would cave in. Avoiding any that looked too unsafe, the scientist finally reached the top. Pointing the torch at the ceiling, Wilson spotted the old trapdoor, concealed by dirt and grime that it gathered throughout the years. The man gave his flashlight to Willow, who took it and pointed it at the exact spot he did. Reaching with both hands, the scientist grabbed the edge of the trapdoor, pulling down with all his strength. It didn't budge.

"It's stuck. Can you give me a hand?"

Willow rolled her eyes, dropping the torch and putting away her lighter. Gripping the trapdoor, the two tried again. Nothing. "Great." Wilson muttered.

Willow picked up the torch and flung it angrily at the ceiling. "Stupid door!" The device bounced off the wooden boards, and the trapdoor swung outward, almost hitting Wilson on the head, had he not dodged it in time. Willow blinked. "Oops. Sorry."

Wilson scowled, but didn't say a thing. Reaching up, he extended the ladder to the floor. "Ladies first."

It was a lot more bright up there. Parts of the roof rotted away during the years, so the bight rays of the afternoon sun illuminated the attic. Of course, that made the machine in the center even more noticeable.

"Well," Willow said, "Looks legit."

Wilson didn't answer. He was too busy staring at the Door. The machine still bore a subtle resemblance to Maxwell, and the scientist couldn't stop himself from being reminded that _this_ is what got them into the mess in the first place. It was the biggest mistake in his lifetime, and there was no way he was repeating it again.

"So...what do we do now?" Willow asked, looking warily between her companion and his invention.

"We burn it."

* * *

Now that he thought about it, Wilson didn't see the point of going in there in the first place. Maybe it was to make sure that the door was still there, or some other, more complex reason. But now, looking at the enormous blaze engulfing the whole house, the scientist found that it didn't matter.

It was surprisingly easy, committing arson. Okay, maybe it wasn't really arson, considering that it was a) his own property and b) he was the one who set it on fire in the first place. All they had to do was pour some gasoline on the foundations, light up a match and voila: The World's Largest Bonfire.

Seeing his house (and, collectively, all his life's work) destroyed in one giant blaze caused a strange feeling to develop. It wasn't quite regret, no. Practically everything in there was some sort of failure, and the only invention that wasn't caused him a bundle of pain and misery. He remembered when he'd come one time, and blatantly told Willow exactly why he was here. That was was before the throne and certainly before he got acquainted with Them. It was back when they didn't even have a proper camp, nothing but a fire pit and some straw mats. He had told her about his invention, about his deal with Maxwell, and how he got here in the first place. Willow had first called him a naive idiot...and then showed him a trick. It was basically a mental release, and Willow used it as a sort of ritual. She put down everything she thought was a burden and then threw it in the flames, letting the fire eat away the papyrus. Wilson didn't think burning his problems away would really help him, but here he was. Burning a whole building down to the ground.

"We should go before the cops come." Willow broke his train of thought.

"No." Wilson frowned. He needed to see the flames die. He needed to be sure of the result.

Willow gave him a worried glance, but seeing his expression made her own features soften. "Alright." she said at last.

When the fire finally died down, the smoke covered had spread to the edge of the forest and the tops of the trees, so it was impossible to see anything three feet away. Wilson coughed, trying to expel the the smoke from his lungs. Willow didn't seem affected. The smoke finally started to clear, and Wilson could see the charred pieces of the foundation of what used to be his home, and some sort of bulky shadow in the middle. Moving closer, the scientist tried to move closer, and when the view finally cleared enough for him to see, he found that it was...

" _What?"_

Footsteps came from behind. Willow appeared next to him, probably because of his outraged cry. "Wow."

In the middle of the burned rubble and dying embers stood Maxwell's machine, absolutely unharmed by the fire. It was covered by a thick layer of soot and ashes, but otherwise, it was completely whole.

"So it's fire proof. Should have seen that coming." Willow chuckled nervously.

Wilson didn't say anything. He took a piece of plywood, still burning on one end, and threw it at the construct. The board bounced off it, breaking into a million pieces upon impact.

"Woa, easy there." Willow grabbed her companion before he threw himself at the stupid thing. "Hey, you gotta calm down, okay?" Wilson's erratic breathing slowed to a normal rhythm, and his tightfisted hands slowly fell at his sides.

The firestarter slowly let go of him. The scientist slumped to the ground, not wanting to get up. _It, it just didn't make sense._

"Oh please! Since when did any of our lives make sense!" Whoops. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Too late now.

"It's made of _wood,_ Willow! _Wood._ You of all people should know that there is no way _wood_ could survive that!" Wilson jumped back onto his feet.

Willow shrugged. "Soggy would doesn't burn well."

"Gah! That is not what I meant!"

He aimed another kick at the contraption, only to wince as his toes started throbbing.

"Well, first of all, you made it. You should know why it doesn't burn. Second of all, kicking it won't help." The firestarter's face was stern as she led him away from the remains of the building and closer to the car.

The scientist dug his heels into the dirt. "We are _not_ leaving! Not until I figure out how to get rid of-"

"You're right. We're not leaving."

Wilson's whole rant screeched to a halt. He turned to look at her. "What?"

"I said we're not leaving."

"No no, before that."

Willow groaned. "You're right, okay? Happy? We can't leave this thing lying around for some innocent kid to find and mess with. We need to get rid of it."

Wilson's face split into a grin. "You said I'm right." She never said that before. Ever. She may have agreed with him sometimes, but never when they were having an argument.

The firestarter rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, we got that already. Now, what do we do, genius?"

He walked up to his car and threw the trunk open. "Now, we get to plan B."

Willow stared at the two shovels in his hands. "Wilson!" she said sharply, "You didn't dig up any more graves, did you?"

The scientist felt his smile falter. "What? No! What gave you that idea?"

"Then why do you have two shovels?"

He bit his lip awkwardly. "I...kind of predicted the burning thing wont work." He had tried everything, even pouring acid on it. It did pretty much nothing.

"So what was the temper tantrum you had back there about, then?

Wilson blushed. "I just really really hoped it would, okay? And it didn't."

Willow snatched one of the shovels and strode towards the remains of the house. Wilson followed sheepishly behind.

Hours later, Wilson's arms felt more like noodles than usual, Willow looked like she would actually combust, and each had a collection of blisters on the palms of their hands. They also had a very, very big hole. The machine stood on the bottom of the hole, the top of it about a foot away from the surface. The sun was setting fast, and Wilson could barely see what was inside the man-made pit. When the two had finished burying the device, the sun had completely set and the whole forest was covered with a thick layer of darkness. It reminded the scientist too much of That Place, and he tried to dispel the thoughts from his head. The only thing lighting their way were the headlights of the old car he got at that Gleeful guy's place. Wilson made sure to never run into him again. So far, the car broke down more than five times, and it was no more than a month since he'd gotten. Good thing he knew how to fix it. Mostly.

"Well, that's done." Willow tossed her shovel onto the ground, and flexed her blistered hands. Wilson grabbed it and shoved both it and his own in the trunk. The firestarter climbed in shotgun and stretched out on the cushions. Wilson joined her shortly after in the driver's seat, and revved the engine. It croaked and couched, but fortunately still managed to start.

"Well, we probably should look for a hotel nearby, there's no way we're getting back to New York this late."

"Hm?" Willow looked at him, her eyes heavy with sleep.

"...And there is no way I'm going to carry you."

Willow sat up, "Such a gentleman." she said sarcastically.

Wilson pulled out of the clearing and onto the gravel road. "Anyway, there's a small town a few miles south. We'll stop there for the night."

The girl shrugged. "Do what you want. I can sleep in the car if I had two."

"There's no way I'm letting you do that."

"Why?"

"Because it's November. And New England. And that equals freezing nights."

Willow let out a sharp, loud bark of laughter, which made the young man jump in surprise behind the wheel. "Sorry," she said, "It's just I remember us surviving freezing winters completely outside, and now your worried that I'd freeze in a _car._ Do you know how useful a _car_ would've been back there? It would have been considered luxury."

Wilson felt his grip on the steering wheel become a tad too tight. "Willow."

The pyromaniac's grin slowly slipped off her face, and she shifted in her seat. "Sorry. It's the darkness probably getting to me. Seriously, did you _have_ to pick the creepiest possible place to live in?"

And just live that, the tension was gone. The scientist smiled, leaning back in his seat.

* * *

"Room for two, please."

The middle aged brunette looked up from her book at the two guests. Putting away her novel, she got out a dusty notebook and flipped to a new page. "Names?"

"Uh, Higgsbury and..."

"Glenn."

The awkward young man looked surprisingly at the woman next to him, who tried to avoid his gaze. The hotel owner paid no mind. "One queen bed, then?"

The two simultaneously blushed, and the man was quick to correct her. "No no no, we're not...it's..."

"Two twin ones. Alright then."

* * *

"Glenn?"

"Yeah. Got a problem with that?"

"No, it's just..."

"Just what?"

"It's like a glen. Of willows."

"..."

"Sorry, I had to."

"..."

"Goodnight."

"...goodnight."

* * *

 **Ha! I updated it! (In like two months but whatever.) So apparently a lot of people like this story. That's great! Thanks a lot for your favorites, follows, and reviews!**

 **I'll try to update once a month, but I dunno how that'll work out. Anyway, the next chapter will get the plot kicking (and yes, there is gonna be a semi=plot to this, just you wait.**

 **BUY GOLD, BYE!**


	3. A Note from a Pal

There were times when Willow couldn't sleep. Call it insomnia, or stress, or just nightmares, but there were nights when the firestarter barely got a wink, and then went on with her day, dragging her feet to work and looking a tad bit like a zombie. Not the sanest of minds, for sure, Willow managed to scare not only her coworkers, but her boss as well. Having a secretary glare at anyone coming in (and secretly wishing she could set something on fire) made it even worse. The only people who actually understood her was, surprisingly, her boss, who himself looked like he was living off coffee and cigarettes.

Despite being, well, her superior, the man was surprisingly patient. She remembered the time when he had to explain to her how to use a computer. The woman had basically nodded and pretended to understand while secretly, her mind was asking stupid questions like _how does this thingy glow?_ She had recently encountered similar technical difficulties with Wilson, and being Wilson, he launched into a whole lecture on how the machine worked, including it's inner components, a brief history (that he had read in a book) and a whole speech about how it was the "epitome of human innovation", whatever that meant.

She had used the same tactic with Wilson as she did with her boss. She smiled, nodded at the right moments, and was just glad her friend didn't smell like month old tobacco.

"Do you get it now?"

"Yep."

"You haven't listened to a word I said."

"Nope."

And that ended that conversation immediately.

Speaking of Wilson, he was the primary reason why Willow didn't sleep that night.

It was close to three in the morning when Willow heard the frantic knocking on her door. Being a light sleeper (you would have to be to survive so long in the wilderness), the girl was woken up in an instant from a dreamless sleep. Sighing, the woman tried to go back to sleep, imagining that the fist beating on her door was just her imagination. This was one of those good nights! The ones where she actually felt well rested after!

The knocking came again, this time louder. Groaning, Willow got up from her oh-so-comfy bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor, and she shivered. Oh, this better be good.

Approaching the front door of her flat, Willow heard Wilson's voice on the other side. "Willow, I know you're in there! Open up, please!"

Rolling her eyes, the girl unlocked the door and turned the knob, ready to punch her annoying friend in the face for waking her up this early.

Wilson froze, his fist in the air as if ready to knock again, an open-mouthed, comical expression on his face. He was staring at her. "Wow, you look terr- uh, I mean good, you look good."

Willow rolled her eyes. "It's three AM. What do you want?"

Then she noticed the box he was carrying under his arm. "What's that?"

Wilson opened his mouth, ready to say something. Then he closed it abruptly, Shifted from one foot to the other, and looked down the corridor of the apartment complex, as if checking for witnesses. "Uh, can I come in?"

The firestarter sighed, up gestured at him so do so. Wilson stepped into the small flat, his arms wrapped awkwardly over the box. He stared at her.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just, your hair-"

"I'm pretty sure you should be that last person to comment on other people's hair."

The scientist's arm went up to his head self-consciously. "It's just, I never saw you with your hair down before."

"You barged in at three AM. Why?" the girl quickly changed the subject, ignoring the warmth on her cheeks.

He handed her the package. "Read it."

Willow stared at the note taped on top of it. Her breath hitched. _Say Pal, long time no see._

Her hands shook. "Is that-?"

"I found it on my front porch tonight. Had to tell you." Wilson smiled. It was a very sarcastic smile.

Willow knew who this was from. This raised too many questions. "I''m surprised you didn't throw it away."

"Oh, I wanted to, trust me. But, well, I'd be a lot more satisfactory to see it burn." He gave her a pointed look, that sarcastic smirk still in place.

Willow glared at him. "So that's why you keep me around."

"What?" That smirk had slipped off, replased by honest confusion.

"And here I thought I was a valued friend. I should have known. First the house, now this," she pointed her finger at him in accusation, "You just want me to burn stuff for you!"

Wilson gave her a deadpan look. "Ha ha. Don't give yourself so much credit, I could have set that thing on fire myself."

"Oh please, without me you would've set it off with you still inside it, or it would have fallen on your head or something." Willow frowned. "Jeez, this is your house we're talking about." She stared at the box. "So I guess he made it out too then, huh? Maxwell I mean."

Wilson went along with the change of subject, the smirk back on, but now a lot less of a sarcastic one. "Unless he shipped it from the island. I doubt the postal service extends that far, though."

"Oh I hope not. That poor mailman." The two looked at each other for a long time before they both snorted it amusement. It was nice to have somebody to joke around with about that place. It made it seem a lot less terrifying and a lot more like an inside joke between the two of them.

She looked back at the box. "So, you wanna open it?"

Wilson shrugged. "I'm still kind of waiting for it to be a time bomb. Or perhaps a curse."

Willow rolled her eyes. "A packaged curse, that would be a new one. Wouldn't put it past that nasty old man, though."

She looked at the clock. Way too early to get up, but way to late to hope to get back to sleep. She turned to her uninvited guest. "Do you want coffee or something?"

"Uh, if you don't mind."

She disappeared into her closet of a kitchen. She was glad Wilson wanted to waste time as much as she did.

Willow came back with two steaming mugs of black coffee, and a kitchen knife. Wilson had made her bed, and was now sitting awkwardly on the edge of it, fidgeting. The package was flung into the far corner of the room, which just so happened to be the darkest one as well. Willow decided to ignore that thought.

The girl sat down next to her friend, handing him one of the mugs. "Thanks for making my bed."

"Huh? Oh, I, uh," Wilson suddenly looked flustered. "I assumed you wont be sleeping anymore, so. Ha, that's kind of my fault, isn't it? Sorry about that?"

"Relax. This isn't the most unpleasant way to be woken up in the middle of the goddamn night. I'm still waiting to hear those dogs barking."

Wilson clenched the mug, staring at the package across the room.

Willow sighed. The elephant in the room didn't like being ignored, did it? She put her mug down on the ground, grabbed the box and made her way back onto the bed. It wasn't heavy, she noted, but still had some decent weight in it. She took the knife and cut the tape around the edges, until the flaps were free. She looked at her friend. "On three?" she asked jokingly.

Wilson nodded, giving a smile. "Sure."

Willow grabbed the flaps dramatically. "One," she tensed for effect."Two..."

"Oh, just open it!"

"Three!" she wretched the box open, both of then staring at the contents inside. "Oh, a bunch on newspapers."

The scientist grabbed the paper on top and ripped it open, unwrapping whatever was in it.

The two stared at the cream colored envelope inside. The red seal in front had a cursive _M_ on it, confirming who the note was from. "Well," Willow said after a while, "He couldn't be more posh can he? Though I'm surprised with the color. I would've expected him to get a black envelope or something, and maybe splatter some blood on it for effect."

Wilson snorted, despite how tense he seemed. "Or maybe he should've gotten a pink one, and put a bow on it. ' _Dearest friends of mine, I'm so sorry I ruined your lives and tried to kill you'._ "

Willow grabbed the envelope and held it up in the air. "Wanna see would could make the best Maxwell impression?" Then she froze, dropping the paper, staring at what was underneath it. Her blood ran cold at the sight. "Oh my God."

She could sense Wilson's confusion, and then his realization at what he sent them. He grabbed it without a word, pulling it out of the box.

Willow didn't know what to say. A million unanswered questions ran through her mind. Why would he send it to them? How did he manage to keep it in the first place? Would it swallow them up the moment they opened it? She stared at the book, a large letter _M_ written as stitched on the cover.

The two stared at it for a long time. It took a while for Willow to shed some of her shock and realize that Wilson's hands were shaking. She tried to put a hand on his shoulder only for Wilson to jump to his feet, book in hand, and turn his back on her. His whole body was shaking.

And then he burst out laughing.

Okay, that was not what she had expected, at all.

"Wilson, are you-?"

"Oh I'm perfect, trust me!" the man turned to face her, a maniacal grin on his face. Willow shuddered. "In fact!" he added, "This is the most hilarious joke that's been played on me since, I don't know, university!" He thrust the book at her face. "I mean, look at this! His little dark book full of secrets, and he sends it too _us_. What does he think well do? Put it in a glass case?!"

Willow decided not to mention the fact that it was sent to Wilson personally. "Maybe he didn't want it around, so he dumped it on us instead, knowing we wont use it?" She frowned. "Or maybe he just wanted to be a jerk, and rub it in our faces?" Come to think of it, the second option was a lot more likely.

The scientist took a few more deep breaths. "Yeah, you're right." the grin slipped of his face, and he let go of the tome, letting it fall with a deep thunk on the floor. "What should we do with it?"

Willow picked up the book. "You said you wanted to burn it."

"About half of that was a joke. Besides, we don't know if that will even work. What if it's fire-proof just like that machine?"

Willow took the lighter out of the pocket of her nightgown. She made sure to always have it on her, even when she slept. "No harm done in trying, right?"

Looking back on it now, Willow was sure that she'd jinxed it. Flicking the lighter on, she brought in toward the book, watching as the pages on the bottom corner started to darken and curl. At first, she didn't notice the blooming pain. Then it hit her with full force, making her scream and drop both of the items on the floor. She clutched her arm, tears blooming at the corners of her eyes. The agony was horrendous, it was like a thousand knives coated with salt had sliced through her arm. She never felt something quite like it, yet she knew what it was. The bleeding skin peeling away from her arm was an indication of that. She had seen the same thing happen before, with the monsters that got caught in the infernos she started. The girl collapsed on her knees, clutching her throbbing appendage. The pain wasn't really an issue here. She had felt worse after all. It was the shock of having something so familiar and so comforting turn on her.

"Willow!" Wilson knelt down before her. "Are you alright?" Well, for someone who claimed to be a genius, that was a very stupid question.

"It's- it's fine."

The two looked over to the book lying next to them, the lighter not so far from it. The corners of the pages were now blackened from the heat, but otherwise, it seemed to be intact.

Wilson made a whiny noise in the back of his throat and kicked the book to the other side of the corridor. It would have been comical in any other situation, but the last thing Willow wanted to do right now is laugh. "It's cursed!" he squeaked out weakly. "I knew it! Of course it is, Maxwell sent it!" he seemed to be torn between ripping it to shreds and throwing it out the window, far away from them as possible.

Willow grunted. The pain had subdued from an unbearable agony to a heavy throb that wouldn't go away. She looked at what was left of her hand. And stared.

Her hand had a giant, bright red welt. She had seen such an injury before on other people, and often she was the unwilling cause of it. However, seeing it on her own skin...it looked wrong, completely out of place. Willow's breathing quickened. "It-it's a burn."

Wilson looked pretty shocked as well, being familiar with her resistance to fire. Yet he somehow managed to hide it, the only give away of his nervousness being his shaking, cold hands. "Yes, it is."

"B-but I don't burn. I _can't_ burn it's not..it's not _possible-"_

"Willow, you need to calm down."

The girl's rasps grew louder. "I-I don't."

"Willow, _please. It's alright."_ Wilson took both of her hands, trying to stop her panic attack. "We'll figure it out, it's going to be _fine-"_

" _No it's not!"_ Willow's chest felt like it was going to burst at any moment. It was like a huge, cold claw was squeezing her abdomen, and she knew exactly who it belonged to. _"_ _I don't burn._ Fire is the only thing that I could t-trust and now..." she was sobbing, she noticed.

"The only thing you could trust, huh?" Wilson was strangely quiet, but his voice carried an edge of sadness to it. Willow couldn't really think of why.

Suddenly he stood up, a determined look on his face, as if he was figuring out one of his gadgets. "I doubt you have a reason to stop trusting it now then."

She blinked at him.

"I mean," he fidgeted some more, the look of confidence now shattered. "I doubt you power is gone. It's just that book's doing, is all. Anything from Maxwell is sure to only bring misery."

All signs of crying were gone now. "That's a bit melodramatic."

Wilson made a dismissive noise, went over to pick up the book he had kicked. He stood looking at the charred corner, fingering is lightly. Willow watched with detached interest, wiping away a few stray tears. Now that was silly of her. She wasn't one to cry easily. She should have thought about it before making any conclusions. So her immunity to fire didn't stretch to cursed objects. Maybe that was the book's way of biting back? If she were a book, she wouldn't like to be burnt to a crisp...

"I wonder.." Wilson was still examining the book, carefully turning it over as if it were a poisonous snake, and making humming noises under his breath. Willow remembered them being equally endearing and annoying back on the island. He took the knife they used to cut the package open, and stabbed the from cover with it. It made a small dent. "Ow." He stared at his own hand, then showed his palm to her. It had a small cut in it, as if someone had poked him is a needle. "Well, that explains it." He stated.

"What is it, some sort of voodoo magic?" Willow joked. Or half-joked. The other half was actually entertaining that possibility, considering what sorts of weird things she had grown used to.

"I don't know, but I don't think there's a way to get rid of this thing without killing ourselves in the process, so I not that tempted to try." Wilson put the book down on the ground carefully. "Though I do wonder how it will react under certain situations. It already proved to overpower your immunity, but does it harm someone if they drop it? Or is it just with the implication of harming the book itself? If I were to drop it in water, would I drown? Or just get really wet? Or-"

"Don't try it, you idiot."

"I wasn't going to! I'm just thinking that theoretically-"

"Well, I think this is enough excitement for me for one day." Willow cut him off, standing up and smoothing down her nightgown. "I vote we put that thing as far away from us as possible, and ignore it for the time being."

Wilson looked back at the book lying innocently on the floor. Well, lying as innocently as a thick volume with a pitch black cover and a blood red _M_ can lie. Then his eyes focused on the box they left cut open. "Hey, what's that?"

Willow glanced inside the box. There was a single sheet of paper spread out on the bottom of the cardboard. The girl plucked it out and turned it over. Wilson leaned over her shoulder to read what it said.

 _1666 Noir Lane, San Francisco, CA._

 _If you want to know the truth._

* * *

 ** _And end scene!_**

 **"'I'll update every month', she said. 'I'll be punctual', she said..."**

 **You know what, shut it conscience, I didn't ask for your opinion. Anyway, good news is, I already started working on the next chapter. Bad news is, I can't promise anything, since my promises concerning this aren't worth Beefalo poop. At least you can use that for fertilizer.**

 **I really need to get both of these POVs to reflect both characters. Like I said before, I would love to have a beta reader, guys.**

 **Quick question: Should I post this on AO3, or just keep it here?**

 **Anyway, buy gold bye!**


	4. Murder Most Foul

Wilson, in all honesty, did not want to see whatever Maxwell had hid on the west coast. Never mind the fact that San Francisco was all the way across the country. Whatever was down there, the scientist wanted nothing to do with it. And why did Maxwell give them that address in the first place? Was it some sort of trick? What the bloody hell did he mean by "if you want to know the truth"?

Where was Maxwell, anyway? Was he stalking him and Willow? If not, then how did he get Wilson's address? Was he cooped up somewhere in a cave, eating spiders and cursing any poor sod that came by? Probably not, but the image made Wilson snicker under his breath.

Which probably wasn't a good idea, considering he was waiting for another job interview. Wilson was kind of jobless. The only way he managed to get a flat in Manhattan was because he had managed to take with him a good portion of gold and jewels that happened to be on the island. He only recently told Willow, and she didn't hesitate to take about half of what was left when he offered. Which was completely understandable. She wasn't really the type to refuse out of courtesy, anyway.

Of course, the (probably cursed) loot would not last forever, and Wilson was not going to bum around without a job until it did. The problem was, Wilson's graduate degree was dated back to 1915. That was kind of a problem. He imagined there would be questions. And not the kind that asked: _Wow, you're_ _more that a century_ _old? You don't look a day over 30!_

He laughed again. The woman sitting next to him gave him a weird look, then got up and moved to a seat farther away. Wonderful.

What was Wilson doing, anyway? He could seriously be considering being an office worker. He would get bored, and frustrated, and probably leave in a fit, if he even got the job. He already sat though dozens of rants from Willow about how she couldn't burn anything while at work because there were smoke detectors everywhere. What if Wilson started burning things, too?

Alright, that probably would happen. If anything, he would just pour hydrogen sulfide solution on the carpet or something, then leave. He did that once in high school, after all. The look on his chemistry teacher's face was priceless.

There was a short period of indecision, and then Wilson got up and left, not bothering to close the door as he did.

It was later, as he got off the metro (a train that runs underground! Pure genius!) that he realized why Maxwell's note was bothering him so much. As much as his rational mind told him it was a bad idea, Wilson couldn't help wanting to know what Maxwell had hidden in California. It was like an itch inside of him that couldn't be scratched unless he found out. And it was making Wilson frustrated at everything. He'd left in middle of an interview that had a potential job attached to it! Though...it would probably he so boring he'd quit anyway, and he would most likely be forced to talk to people frequently (there was a reason he'd chosen his family's cabin deep in the woods to reside in)...

Oh, he'd gotten off at the wrong stop. Great. Wait, wasn't this Willow's neighborhood? Well, he could either stand around waiting for the next train, or go and pay the firestarter a visit.

...

"Don't you have your own house to crash at?" Willow said as she opened the door.

"Yes," Wilson stated "but unfortunately, it lacks a particular feature I'm quite fond of."

"And what's that?"

"You."

Willow stared at him for a second. Then she rolled her eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, nerd."

"Right, can I come in now?"

As she let him in, Wilson noticed face was a few shades darker than normal. Weird, considering she was usually as pale as him. Was she sick?

A little while later they were both sitting behind Willow's small kitchen table, having a small chat that for once did not involve ghosts or monsters or the island. A little part of Wilson liked the normalcy. The other part of him was whispering that "normal" wasn't really normal for them anymore. It would feel a lot more "normal" if the two of them were instead by Willow's large campfire, waiting for the next hound attack.

"So how's the job hunting going on?" Willow asked.

"Fine." Wilson was not going to say that he had quit one without even being hired.

Willow blinked. "Hey, this not the best time, but...where did you hide that book?"

"Uh, somewhere." Wilson was definitely not going to talk about that. What he was going to do was change the subject. "So set any big fires lately?" Normalcy, apparently, didn't last that long.

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not-"

"You only bring up fire when you want to distract me with something I like. Now," She glared at him. That woman sure can glare. "Where did you hide it?"

"My room?"

"Wilson!" Willow threw her hands up. "That is literally the worst place you can put it! Do you want to go insane? Because that this is a sure method of-"

There was a scream. Willow froze, her lecture snuffed out. Wilson jumped out if his seat, clutching his chest. That sound did not belong in an apartment complex. That was a bone-chilling scream that he had only heard a few times in his life, and all of them were unpleasant.

He shared a quick look with Willow, and the two of them bolted out of the flat.

There was still an instinct Wilson had that told him to run the other direction, to get as far away from danger as possible. He developed it on the island, and he had to admit, the "flee" impulse saved his skin plenty of times. However, there was a stronger, much older impulse that had governed Wilson's mental processes since the day he was born. It was the same impulse that wouldn't let him leave Maxwell's note well alone.

There was also a dead woman on the stairs.

She was lying face down on the lower end of the staircase. A large puddle of blood was forming underneath the woman's body, turning into bright crimson waterfalls as it slowly made its way down the steps. The woman's limbs were spread out every which way. She was dressed in an expensive looking white suit (which was now ruined by her own bodily fluids), and was a tad overweight. But as interesting as the dead body was, Wilson was drawn to an even more bone-chilling sight.

Written on the brick wall next to the dead body was the word _greed_ _._

…

"Yes, that's what it said. _Yes,_ written in blood. Would it kill ya to stop putting these crummy blankets on me? I'm not cold!"

Wilson watched from afar as Willow was questioned by the police, sitting on the front steps of the apartment complex. She brushed off someone as they, once again, tried to give her a comfort blanket. Wilson wasn't asked that much himself, since he didn't live there and had not known the victim.

The woman turned out to be Everyn Simone, a wealthy business woman that just so happened to be visiting her grandson when she was murdered. A stab wound right in the chest, and it left quite a mess. It suddenly struck Wilson that his detached attitude towards the murder wasn't what most people considered slightly disturbing. Maybe he should've been a bit worried that he wasn't worried. Oh well.

Willow was finally let go of, was she immediately went to his side. "Well then. The said they'll call me if they need anything else. Can't wait for that." She eyed him.

"Are you...alright?" he asked.

"Look at you, picking up on socially acceptable moments to say that phrase!" Willow rolled her eyes when he didn't react. "I'm fine. I've only seen that old crone like two times, and she was never very likable. Or polite." Willow's voice was a bit dismissive. "Now," she shifted her shoulder, and Wilson only now noticed the heavy looking bag under her arm, "You are going to be the gentleman you always claimed you are and offer me a place to crash."

…

"I think you need a break."

"A break from what? I'm not really doing anything."

"Well, those bags under your eyes speak for themselves."

Wilson sat down with a huff on the bed. Since Willow's place was currently crawling with the police, the firestarter decided to stay at his own apartment. It wasn't anything big, just a simple studio with a kitchen in the front and a bed in the back. A small cluttered desk stood next to the bed, filled with notebooks and notes from Wilson's time on the island. A large chest sat underneath the desk, filled to the brim with gold nuggets and assorted supernatural gems. Willow currently had one like that at home, hidden on the floor of a stuffy closet. Thankfully, the police needed a warrant to search her flat. Otherwise, there would be a lot of questions if that thing was found.

Willow plopped down next to him and pointed an accusing finger at his face. "You haven't been sleeping properly since Maxwell sent you that stupid letter. That's why you look like a half-dead merm."

The scientist pushed her hand away. "Aren't I the one who should be worried about you?"

"Why would you want to be worried about _me_?"

"A woman died on your front steps."

"See! 'A woman died on my steps', yet I still look better off than you!" Willow waved her hand in the air dismissively. "Besides, it's not like neither of us have seen dead bodies before."

That, unfortunately, was true. Wilson had forgotten how many times one of his friends died on the island. And that wasn't even mentioning how many times he himself had perished. Fortunately, death wasn't really a permanent thing. Various ways of avoiding death were found by all of them. About ten or so of those red amulets were under his desk. And the hearts...

" _Why isn't it working, Abigail?"_ No.

" _Well, it was worth a shot."_

No no no. He was not going to think about that.

"Hey, are you zoning out on me again?"

Suddenly, he was extremely glad that Willow decided to stay with him. She was a great distraction. "Sorry."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'm not really surprised. That lady was a pretty nasty piece of work. Not as nasty as you-know-who, but pretty nasty."

You-know-who? What was he, Voldemort now?

"Hey," Willow put a hand on his shoulder. Maybe he looked more stressed or something. "Don't give me that face."

"What face?" Why was she so bent on naming his expressions?

"That 'annoyed' face you get when you're really stressed and want to say something really mean, but don't because it's not polite." She paused. "Or because I'm would punch you in the face afterward."

"Probably the latter." Did she think he was annoyed at her? He wasn't annoyed at her, he was annoyed at this whole stupid mess with Maxwell, but he wasn't annoyed at her! Well, sometimes he was when her fires started to get too hazardous for anyone else's health, but she wasn't setting any fires here so there was absolutely not reason for him to be annoyed at her-

"Listen, I get it," her hand was still on his shoulder, now holding it in a firm grip like she expected him to run away. "You're worried about that note, right? Well, I could burn it for ya, if you want."

Burn it. That would mean getting rid of the temptation. It also would mean that he'll never find out that Maxwell was talking about.

"No."

Willow looked taken-aback by his firm tone. "Wilson-"

"Look, I just realized: I need to see what it is. I mean, if there really is an answer to everything that's happened, shouldn't we know about it? Sure, Maxwell is a pathological liar who's personality is bordering on that of a psychopath, but-" He was babbling. Great. "But I don't think that note is a lie. Or a scam. There's no reason for him to do that."

Willow looked skeptical. "Uh, huh."

"Look, I know it sounds doubtful-"

"Oh, definitely."

"But I-"

There was a knock on the door.

"Friendly neighbors?" Willow asked.

"I don't really talk to my neighbors..."

"Oh right, who was I kidding. You're the guy that lived in that creepy lonely cabin in the woods, writing 'keep out' signs."

Wilson ignored her comment, staring at the door. It was just someone knocking. There was no reason for Wilson to feel that dread creep up his neck. Yet sitting there, not very willing to stand up and answer it, the scientist felt that something was very, very wrong.

When he opened the door, there was nobody there, just a note left sitting innocently on the hallway carpet. Wilson picked it up.

" _You might want to turn on the news, Pal." - M._

* * *

 **Next up! Mysteries, Mayhem, Maxwell and more! Stay tuned for next installment of Begin Again! Watch (er, read) as Willow and Wilson solve a murder mystery! For no apparent reason other than the author thinking it's a cool scenario!**

 **Multiple people have been wondering when the other characters will show up. Don't worry, they're coming! You'll meet the next three in like, two or three chapters from now, which I'm hoping I'll finish before summer break ends! However, this is a willowson centered story, so while others will show up occasionally, those two will be hogging all the spotlight!**

 **As for now: REALITY IS AN ILLUSION THE UNIVERSE IS A HOLOGRAM BUY GOLD BYE!**


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